Quarter to Midnight, page 13
Gabe’s face constricted in a combination of anger and sympathy. “I can understand her point of view.”
“So can I. It still haunts me, though.”
“Why didn’t your father tell you what he suspected about your brother-in-law?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he tried. I wasn’t mentally with them, even when I was physically there.”
“Always thinking about your job?”
“Yep. And I have so many regrets, but I can’t change the past. I can only be there for Chelsea and Harper now. Working for Burke allows me to set my own schedule most of the time.”
He frowned. “I’m keeping you from your family. I should have allowed Burke to assign someone else to this job.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Burke put Lucien on guard duty at our apartment tonight.”
“I met him earlier today. He seems like a good guy.”
“He is. And I’m there with them six nights out of seven. Sometimes more often. I think they need a break from me every now and again. It’s hard not to hover over Harper, but we’re getting better. My sister had a job interview today and it went really well.”
He smiled. “I heard you talking to her. I’m glad for her. Sounds like she’s getting her life on track.”
Molly had called several times that day to check up on her sister and niece, until Chelsea had basically told her to stop. Kind of like Molly had told Gabe to stop a few minutes before. “She is. She’s finally able to leave Harper with a sitter for a few hours at a time. The first time was rough, even though it was our office manager’s daughter. We knew Louisa and we trust her, but it took Harper a while to trust, and she was the most important person in the situation. But it’s better now. We all can take a little time for ourselves.”
“Did you have plans with Harper this week? Am I keeping you from anything important?”
“We ride a few times a week.”
“On Ginger and Shelley, right? Rescue mustang and a quarter horse.”
She smiled up at him. “Right. I’m surprised you remembered. That was kind of a stressful few moments there in the truck.” As she’d managed to break away from the unmarked NOPD car that had been following them. She hadn’t told him that their tail had been NOPD. Only Burke and his team knew. No reason to make Gabe even more agitated.
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression suddenly unreadable, and she wondered if he could see the truth on her face. She didn’t think so, but . . . “You handled it well,” he said.
“I was in the military. You learned fast to handle things well. But I’ve always managed calm in a crisis, ever since Chelsea and I were kids.” She shrugged, growing uneasy under his unfaltering gaze. “I’m the big sister. Kind of goes with the territory.”
“I was impressed,” he said gruffly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t trust you from the start.”
“You didn’t know me. It’s fine, Gabe. Really. I’ve already forgotten it.”
“I haven’t. I won’t. Thank you, Molly.”
She expected him to turn for his room, but he didn’t. He didn’t look tired anymore, either. So she picked up her pen and gestured to the empty chair beside her. “You want to help me go through these papers?”
His shoulders sagged, his relief clear. “Yes. Please. I don’t want to close my eyes right now.”
“I get it. But . . .” Desire had returned, making her cheeks heat. “Maybe put on a shirt first, though?”
He grinned suddenly, the effect on his face breathtaking. “Why?”
She rolled her eyes, because his chest had puffed out in pride. “Just do it, Gabe.”
He saluted crisply. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared, and she called after him, “Cut the price tag off your sleep pants.”
His laugh rolled through the house. “Yes, ma’am.”
The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 4:45 A.M.
Lamont rarely smoked at home because Joelle didn’t like it and it was easier to simply smoke on breaks at work than to listen to her bitch. He was afraid of what he’d do to her one day. She’d bitch and he’d just be done and then he’d slap her or maybe even strangle her.
It was a nice fantasy. But one that would ruin his plans for the future if he ever acted on it.
But Joelle was sleeping off last night’s bender, so he lit up and inhaled, exhaling with a contented sigh.
Beside him in bed, Ashley still slept. She’d tuckered herself right out. She was a flexible little thing on an average night, but tonight had been exemplary because she’d been very horny. Something that Joelle wasn’t. Ever. Well, not since she’d married him. Beforehand, she’d been every bit as interested and willing as Ashley.
It was an interview, he knew. His mistresses were usually his office administrators who wanted to be his next wife. They’d throw themselves at him, usually growing sullen and disinterested when he didn’t immediately divorce his wife and marry them. The ones who hung on the longest, who showed their loyalty, were the ones he’d weigh against the bother of getting rid of his current wife.
Ashley was getting close. Were the timing right, he’d have gotten rid of Joelle a long time ago. But people were watching him, he knew. And while being married several times wasn’t a political dealbreaker, being under investigation for murder certainly was.
So he was biding his time. If Ashley stuck around long enough, he’d marry her once Joelle was history. He’d have to wait and see.
He’d never fucked Ashley here before. In his home. He knew she’d take that as a positive sign, but he couldn’t help that. It wasn’t like they were in his bed. He wasn’t stupid, after all. He kept a bed in the room adjoining his home office, for nights when he worked too late. Or that was his excuse to Joelle. Lately, he just didn’t want to share a bed with her.
He reached to his nightstand to tap his cigarette over the ashtray. It was antique decorative glassware and one of Joelle’s favorite pieces, so he used it as an ashtray whenever he could. It was petty, but he didn’t care. He brought the cigarette back to his lips and checked his cell phone, hoping for a text from either Tyson Whitley or Cornell Eckert.
There were none.
He tried not to be too anxious. Whitley lived in Dallas and even if he’d left the instant Lamont had ended their call, he’d only be arriving in Houston about now. And Eckert was a finicky motherfucker. He’d contact Lamont when he was good and ready and not before.
If Eckert failed in killing Xavier . . .
Well, he wasn’t going to worry about that right now. He was going to wake Ashley up, have one more round of sex, then send her on her way.
He had a breakfast meeting with the DA.
Mont Belvieu, Houston, Texas
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 7:05 A.M.
“He’s here,” Manny said with a yawn. He handed his burner phone over the seat to Xavier, who sat with Carlos in the back seat. They were parked at the H-E-B grocery store near Manny’s place, Manny not wanting Rocky’s lawyer to have his home address. Which was totally fair and very smart. They’d arrived at H-E-B an hour ago, wanting to avoid any possibility of being late.
Plus, none of them had really been sleeping anyway. They’d crashed at Manny’s apartment for a few hours, but Xavier hadn’t closed his eyes. He kept thinking about the man he’d shot. Was he alive? Dead?
Would he come back?
And what about his mother? She couldn’t go home, either. There might be a dead man in her spare bedroom. If the man was still alive, he might come after his mom.
He hadn’t called her yet, because she was safe with her best friend Willa Mae in the city, hopefully still pleasantly buzzed from all the wine the women had consumed at book club. But he’d have to call her soon.
He dreaded it. Because she’d dreaded this for years.
Both of their worst nightmares had come true.
Gingerly, he took the flip phone from Manny, part of him wishing that Rocky Hebert had never found him all those years ago. If the man had stayed away, he might still be safe.
Then again, if the man had stayed away, Xavier would have been unaware that there was any danger. He would have been a lamb being led to slaughter.
He forced himself to focus on Manny’s phone screen. The text from Paul Lott was simple. Here. Where r u?
With friends. Which is your car?
The reply was immediate. White SUV. BMW. Parked under lamppost, C1.
On my way.
“He’s in the white Beemer SUV over there.” Xavier pointed to the sign for the C1 section of the H-E-B parking lot. It was a popular place and lots of people came and went. Way better than waiting somewhere isolated.
“You ready, cuate?” Carlos murmured.
Xavier’s throat grew tight at the nickname. Some brother I am, dragging Carlos into this. “No. But Lott came like he promised. Hopefully he’ll be able to help. Or at least give me legal advice.”
Carlos rolled his head, making his neck crack. His friend hadn’t slept much, either. “Let’s go, then. Manny, you gonna keep watch?”
“Absolutely. And do not get in his car until I meet him. Got it?”
Again, totally fair and very smart. “Got it,” Xavier promised. Because this wasn’t Carlos’s problem, and he didn’t want his best friend to be hurt. Or worse.
Manny started his old junker, the engine coughing and wheezing and knocking before it finally turned over.
They rolled to a stop next to the white BMW and Xavier held his breath while a middle-aged white man exited the vehicle, standing tall, if tired.
“That must be him,” Xavier whispered.
Carlos got out first. “Mr. Lott? Can I see your ID?”
Manny snorted. “He should be a cop instead of an engineer.”
Xavier smiled weakly. “He really should. Thanks, Manny. For everything.”
“No problem. Let’s go meet your pal.”
Xavier got out on wobbly legs. He had to hold on to the car door for a moment, until he could stand on his own.
Carlos turned to him. “His ID matches. I took a picture of it.”
I love you, man. And he did. He couldn’t have asked for a better best-friend-slash-brother than Carlos Hernandez. Swallowing hard, he nodded at the lawyer. “Mr. Lott. Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve had a rough night.”
Xavier had to swallow again. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you calling the cops?” Carlos asked abruptly.
Lott smiled. “Nope. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”
Xavier shook his head. “I can’t just leave. My mom’s here. She wasn’t at home last night, but she’ll go home later today and see . . .” He trailed off, because he wasn’t sure what his mother would see. Blood? A dead body? “What if the guy’s still there? Alive? Waiting for her?”
Mr. Lott’s brows shot up. “Alive? What did you do?”
Xavier glanced at Carlos, then back at Mr. Lott. “I’m not sure.”
Lott frowned, but nodded. “All right, then. We’ll go by your house and check. If he’s still there in any capacity, we’ll call the cops on an intruder. If not, you can pack a bag. And then we’ll go talk to your mother.”
Carlos relaxed. “That sounds like a good plan. I like that his mama is in the loop.”
Xavier nodded. “Me, too. Who was that guy, Mr. Lott? What does he want with me?”
Although Xavier already knew the answer to the second question. He wants to kill me.
“I don’t know who he was,” Mr. Lott answered, and he seemed sincere. “But you know why he wants you.”
“Because he saw a murder,” Carlos whispered.
Mr. Lott met Xavier’s gaze, steady and kind. “It’s all right, son. We’ll figure this out. You were important to Rocky, and he was like a brother to me.”
Carlos put his arm around Xavier’s shoulders. “Where he goes, I go. He’s like a brother to me, too.”
Mr. Lott gave them a nod. “I would be surprised if you didn’t. How would you like to do this, Xavier? We can go to your house first or talk to your mother first. Your call.”
“My house first. I need to know what to tell my mama to expect.”
Manny spoke up. “Is it really safe to go to Xavier’s place? What if that guy is still there and he’s alive? He tried to kill these guys. He’s not going to just give up.”
Xavier gave Manny a grateful look. “I’ve got a—” He stopped himself before he said gun. Not that it was a huge deal to be carrying in Texas. Texans didn’t even need a license to carry anymore, but he didn’t want to announce his gun to the whole world. “I’m prepared.”
Manny’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know about this, X.”
“I’m prepared as well,” the lawyer said quietly. “Would you prefer he call the cops?”
Manny blew out a breath. “No, sir. But I still don’t like this. At all.”
Carlos looked undecided. “We stay together.”
“Together,” Xavier echoed, praying that he was doing the right thing.
Mid-City, New Orleans, Louisiana
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 7:15 A.M.
Coffee. Molly had made coffee, bless her.
Gabe opened his eyes to darkness, as he did every day, thanks to the miracle of room-darkening window shades. He normally didn’t get home from the Choux until two in the morning and had learned early on that the east-facing window in his bedroom was not his friend.
But coffee was his friend, especially at—He squinted at the clock on his nightstand. Shit. Seven a.m.? He never woke up at seven a.m.
You’ve never hired a PI to investigate your father’s murder, either. He sat up in bed, scrubbing his palms over his face, trying to wake up. He’d gone to sleep sometime around three, unable to keep his eyes open another moment longer. But Molly had still been working then, still organizing his father’s papers.
He wondered if she’d gone to sleep at all.
Of course, it could be Burke making the coffee. He still hadn’t arrived as of three a.m., staying at his father’s house to make sure the sheriffs did their jobs correctly. But Burke hadn’t expected to find any prints. If the intruders had been smart enough to fake his father’s suicide, they probably had worn gloves.
Still, one could hope.
Gabe pulled on the sleep pants from the night before—sans price tag—and made his way to the kitchen, but stopped just shy of the archway when he heard worry in Burke’s voice.
“Are you sure?” Burke asked insistently.
“Am I sure that Rocky was making regular payments to someone for at least the past six years?” Molly asked. “Yes.”
What the hell? No way. Gabe took another step, then froze.
“Am I sure that it was a woman in Houston?” Molly went on. “Pretty sure, yes. Do I think that Rocky was keeping a woman there? I don’t know the answer to that.”
No. Gabe shook his head hard, unwilling to accept that his father had kept a secret like that from him.
He didn’t tell you he had cancer.
That’s different.
Is it? And maybe he thought you’d object.
But six years . . . Mom was still alive six years ago.
“No!” The word burst from him as he barreled into the kitchen. “You’re wrong. My father wouldn’t have done that to my mom.”
Burke and Molly sat at the table, Molly at the head and Burke on her right. She went very still at his outburst, a piece of paper in her gloved hand. “Good morning, Gabe.”
“No, it’s not a good morning,” he hissed. “You’re making accusations against my father. You’re wrong. Burke, tell her that she’s wrong.”
Burke pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve only had two hours’ sleep, Gabe. I’m tired and cranky and I need some of that coffee before I can think clearly. Have a cup with me while we let Molly explain what she found.”
Gabe shook his head. “Not if she’s going to say that my father had a mistress. While my mother was still alive and dying from cancer. Because that didn’t happen.”
Molly set the piece of paper on the table. “I didn’t say that,” she said calmly.
So calmly that he wanted to scream. Until he saw the way her hand trembled.
And then he remembered how she’d comforted him the night before when he’d seen the destruction in his father’s house. He remembered her compassion.
She was just doing her job. That I asked her to do.
So, he pulled out the chair on her left and sat, turning to face her. “What is it that you think you’ve found?”
She exhaled quietly, a flicker of relief in her blue-green eyes. Angling an inch-high stack of papers his way, she showed him the top sheet. “Automated deductions, same amount every month. This is the earliest that I’ve found, from six years ago. He kept records going back seven years, and there was no such activity during the first year of records, so I think it’s safe to assume it started six years ago.”
Gabe frowned. “Three hundred and fifty dollars,” he read. “Where did it go?”
“To John Alan Industries.” She pointed her gloved finger at the transaction.
“John Alan?” Gabe flinched, his gut twisting as a harsh shiver shook him. “That’s . . . impossible.”
But that was the name on the paper.
“Why?” Molly asked softly. “Why is it impossible?”
Gabe started to speak, but the word came out a croak. He cleared his throat. “My mother got pregnant when I was twenty. She was forty-four.”
Molly’s brows furrowed, her lips moving silently as she counted. “She was older than your father, then.”
“Yes, by five years.”
Molly’s expression grew sad. “She lost the baby?”
He nodded. “I didn’t even know she was pregnant until she lost the baby. She was waiting until she was out of her first trimester to tell anyone.” His jaw clenched. “Because chances of miscarriage were higher due to her age. Turns out she was right. I remember the night it happened. We were staying with Patty’s parents because our house was flooded.”
